


I ATEN'T DEAD

by erudipitous



Series: three times they kissed (and one time they didn't) [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Character, Developing Relationship, F/F, Queerplatonic Relationships, also this is very much a platonic ship, but don't worry they work it out, generally embarrassing situation, very mild noncon (someone is kissed while unconscious)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudipitous/pseuds/erudipitous
Summary: And this would be why Esme always carries a sign so people know she's not dead when she's out Borrowing.





	I ATEN'T DEAD

Gytha Ogg trudged up the hill to Nanny Gripes' cottage. Esme's cottage, she reminded herself. It had been a week since old Nanny Gripes' passing, and Gytha figured that would have been more than enough time for Esme to settle into what was now her own steading. Time to come around with a basket of scones and an earful of gossip that Esme would doubtless pretend not to listen to.

As she walked around the back of the cottage, she noticed that it seemed awfully quiet. She frowned. No, not quiet, the wildlife and livestock was still making their usual ruckus. No, the cottage felt empty.  
That was odd. Perhaps Esme was out making her rounds. It was an odd time of day for it, though.  
She went to knock on the back door, remembered it was no longer Nanny Gripes' cottage, and walked in without knocking. "Too-ee!" she called.  
There was no response.

The cottage was definitely Esme's now, no doubt about it, Gytha noted. The overall structure of the place was the same – walls leaning against each other for support, the thatch roof slipping off like a bad wig, the corkscrewed chimney, a cottage out of the nastier kind of fairy tale. Inside… you’d barely know that anyone lived in the cottage. Gone were Nanny Gripes’ flower vases and knickknacks, her soft rugs and comfortable chairs, her collection of teapots, all sensibly distributed by Nanny Gripes a few days before her passing. There were two old wooden chairs by the fire, one of them a rocking chair gifted to Esme by Nanny Gripes (“You’ll need a good solid rocking chair, girl, it’s practically a requirement”). There was a dresser, and a rag rug in front of the hearth. A broomstick leaned against the wall in one corner. There was nothing shiny, nothing new, and nothing unnecessary. Gytha didn’t know what else she had expected from Esme.  
What she hadn’t expected, was the conspicuous absence of Esme herself. The chairs by the hearth were remarkably empty, as were the two rickety chairs by the table. There was no mulish young witch leaning against the wall or in some corner. Gytha found only goats in the goatshed, only bees in the beehive, and a few birds in the garden.

The only place left to look was the bedroom, and it was Not Done to go into another witch's bedroom without permission. Gytha hesitated, worry pricking at the edges of her thoughts. Just to be safe, she decided, and pushed the door open.  
She relaxed at the sight of the young woman on the bed. "Esme, why didn't you answer me?" she demanded, approaching the bed.

Esme didn't stir.  
Gytha's breath caught in her throat. "Esme?"  
The other witch lay fully clothed on top of her bed, motionless. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped on her chest.  
Gytha reached forward with a trembling hand to grab Esme's wrist.

There was no pulse.  
She pinched Esme's arm, hard.  
The woman didn't twitch.  
Her mind was blank. Witches didn't just - die like that, there was a Call, they always knew - or else it was an unnatural death, and there would be signs of struggle - and Esme would have won anyways - she always did. Unless – maybe she knew it was coming, and didn't tell anyone? The way she was lying there, hands neatly clasped, seemed to suggest some level of foreknowledge. But how could it have been natural causes? She was still young, in perfect health, surrounded by excellent healers. Maybe she had attempted some magical feat, reached too far in her arrogance? That sounded more in character.

Gytha stood there for what felt like years, heart pounding in her chest, hands trembling.

There was a knocking at the window, and Gytha started. She dismissed it a moment later, when she saw the raven that had landed on the windowsill. She leaned forward and put her ear to Esme's chest, listening for a heartbeat, but all she could hear was her own pounding heart.

The raven pecked at the window again, more insistent this time.

Gytha didn't burst into tears. She was a practical young woman, and she had dealt with death before. She knew that in a few moments, the shock would set in, and she would mindlessly go about doing everything that needed to be done.

This wasn't like the other deaths she'd dealt with, though - this was Esme. So she allowed herself one small bit of foolishness. She looked around to make sure there was no one watching - the raven had finally flown off - then leaned forward and pressed her lips to Esme's.

In that instant, there was a flutter of black wings, and Esme's eyes shot open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Gytha Ogg?" The shout came out more like a croak, but the intent was clear all the same.  
Gytha sprang backwards as if she'd been burned, almost falling over before catching herself on the bedpost. The raven, which had somehow made it inside the room, hopped over to the window.

Gytha's face, which had been white as a sheet, turned bright red in an instant.  
"I thought you were dead!" she exclaimed.  
"And you thought that was a good reason to kiss me?" Esme demanded. She sat up and coughed to clear her throat, glaring at Gytha. "Open the window and let that poor bird out, now."  
Gytha blinked, mouth open, but complied. Once the bird had flown off, she closed the window back up and turned to face her friend. "Esme, what the hell happened? You were dead!"  
"Obviously, I wasn't, " she replied acridly.  
"Look, I've been a witch as long as you, I know how to tell if someone's dead or not," Gytha said. "You had no pulse! You weren't breathing! You didn't move an inch, not when I said your name, not when I pinched you!"  
Esme rolled her eyes. "If you'd listened carefully enough, you'd have noticed I was breathing, very faintly. I'm pretty sure my body don't completely stop when I'm out."  
Gytha picked up on what Esme didn't say outright. "When you're out? Esme, were you outside of your body?"  
"I was Borrowing," she said.  
Gytha's eyes widened. "That's - " incredibly dangerous, she wanted to say, and amazing, not one witch in fifty can do that. But because it was Esme, it wasn't even a surprise. "You're careful about it, aren’t you?"

Esme stood and adjusted her hat. "Of course I'm careful, Gytha," she said, walking into the living room. "You're the one who ought to be more cautious, kissing people just cause they look dead. You could catch something nasty doing that ."  
Gytha followed her out of the room indignantly. "It's not like I make a habit of it!" she exclaimed. "It's just because it was you!"  
"Oh, that's a good thing, is it?"  
Gytha glared at Esme, hands clenched.

Then the anger evaporated. "I care about you, you daft woman," she said quietly, head held high. "I thought you were dead, and I allowed myself a moment of foolishness. It won't happen again."  
Esme looked away, her expression inscrutable.  
"But you might want to consider making a sign, so that other people don't worry if they find you when you're out Borrowing, she said"  
Gytha swept out of the cottage, closing the back door behind her.

Esme looked at the basket of scones Gytha had left behind. She sighed softly and brought it to the kitchen.  
She felt very small , and she didn't think it was because of the bird. She wished people weren't so insistent on kissing as the way to show that they cared. At least Gytha seemed to have gotten the message this time.  
A sign was a good idea, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! This series is a blast to write, I'm really enjoying exploring this relationship. Sorry about the wait, I started my summer job and I've had basically no time to write.


End file.
